


The Mask He Wears

by Starships_and_Stopwatches



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Cassian Andor Appreciation Week 2018, Cassian Andor Needs a Hug, Cassian Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mon Mothma is basically just his worried mother, Or like twenty, POV Mon Mothma, the Rebel Dossier made me surprisingly emotional okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starships_and_Stopwatches/pseuds/Starships_and_Stopwatches
Summary: Mon Mothma has been worrying about Cassian's mental health for years. Now, she finally decides to do something about it.





	The Mask He Wears

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week, Day 2
> 
> Prompt: Mask
> 
> Inspired by this quote from the Rogue One Rebel Dossier:
> 
> “I am concerned about him, however. I understand that for our rebel movement to survive, brave men and women must do terrible things that we’d rather not talk about. But what happens to those men and women afterward? Are we doing enough to help them live with what they’ve had to do? Do we encourage them when they feel guilty? Comfort them when they can’t sleep? And do we notice when they stop feeling guilty? When they no longer lose sleep? Capt. Andor has been a rebel fighter his entire life. You say this with pride, and I’m sure he would, too. But it worries me. If we succeed and overthrow the Empire, what kind of life will someone like Capt. Andor have?” 
> 
> -Mon Mothma in a message to General Draven

Throughout Jyn Erso’s “interrogation”, Mon Mothma watches Cassian out of the corner of her eye. He stands at the far edge of the briefing area, leaning against a panel in a casual yet alert manner, until he is called upon to brief the young girl on the situation of her father and the mission he has been assigned. He’s relaxed yet tense, both intimidating and fading into the background — whichever the moment calls for. It’s a prime example of the skills he’s picked up from years of working in Intelligence. 

She’s known him since he joined the Alliance; even years ago he seemed much older than he really was. She sees it in the way he holds himself, stiff and militaristic, and in the permanent tiredness of his eyes, eyes that have seen the world as it is and can never see it differently again. She worries for him, worries at the fact that he’s been fighting his entire life. It’s all he has ever known, and she wonders, if Cassian lives to see the day they defeat the Empire, whether he’ll be able to transition into the kind of life she knows he wishes for everyone else. 

She’s kept her opinions to herself for years, letting General Draven take the role of trainer and mentor to him. She regrets that now. The rebellion, the fight, the dream — it’s worn Cassian down. Worn him down so far that she thinks if she doesn’t do anything to stop it now, he may reach a point so low that he will never be able to pick himself up from again. He hides all of this behind a mask of indifference and professionalism. It’s a mask that he’s been constructing and perfecting since childhood, one that she believes he uses to convince everyone around him, including himself, that he is unaffected by the terrible things his service to the Alliance has led him to do. She knows it’s only a matter of time before the mask, his fragile support system, falls apart and takes him along with it. That’s why, after Draven takes the girl to receive further briefing, she stops Cassian on his way out the door, requesting that he join her in the separate briefing room further down the corridor. He nods, his expression unchanged from the serious look he had worn throughout the “interrogation”, and changes his path to follow her there.

They reach the doorway of the briefing room and she gestures for him to enter. Once he has made his way inside, she follows him in and shuts the door behind her. She knows that if this conversation wasn’t as private as she could make it, there would be no getting through the titanium defenses of the Captain’s mind. She turns to face him and finds him standing stiffly, soldierly, with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “At ease, Captain,” Mon tells him in an effort to make their environment a more comfortable one. But, as she had predicted, Cassian doesn’t move at all. She guesses that he instead took the statement more as a cue that this will be a more informal conversation. She supposes that would do. 

“I wanted to talk to you before you left on the mission, Captain,” she started, “Is that alright with you?”

He looks at her, expression still blank and unreadable. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Good. I wanted to check in with you on your…” she searched for the right word, “health.” 

She watches as Cassian straightens himself even more than he had already been standing, seemingly almost at attention. “No sustained injuries from my last mission, ma’am. Medical cleared me for fieldwork upon return.” 

Mon sighs. This was going to take more effort than she thought. “I don’t necessarily just mean physical health, Cassian.” She notices a flicker of… _something_ flash across his features for a fraction of a second, before his face returns to its maddeningly neutral look. She presses on anyway. 

“How have you been lately, Cassian?” His eyebrows furrow. “Mentally?” His jaw tightens. Bracing. “Emotionally?”

With that, Cassian finally breaks her gaze. She can see it now, the small crack in his facade. That was good. That was progress. 

“I’ve been… fine, ma’am.”

Mon feels a surge of protectiveness run through her, and she surprises even herself when she says, “That’s bantha-shit, Cassian. Don’t lie to me.” His eyes snap back to hers for a moment, wide, before he looks down at his feet. Giving in. Another small victory. She asks how he’s been feeling again. 

All he says (or all that he knows how to or can let himself put into words, Mon realizes) is, “It’s… not easy. Especially when I’m not actively on a mission. Too much time to think.” 

She nods. “Do you ever talk to anyone about it? Apart from this conversation, of course.” 

He looks up at her for a moment, before averting eye contact again. “Uh, sometimes. Not often though…” He trails off, his eyes shifting from place to place but never landing on hers. It’s the most vulnerable and open she’s ever seen him — she would be happy if both his words and expression didn’t **radiate** fear. 

“That’s good. It’s important that you don’t bottle it up inside. It’ll wear you down.” Cassian takes a breath and she sees some of the muscles in his face relax, as if she finally said something that made sense. 

“What is it?” 

He shrugs. “Draven says something similar.” When he sees her startle in surprise (that didn’t seem like a phrase you could even _torture_ out of the General), he quickly corrects himself. “Not about emotions, really, but about… other things.” 

That was vague. “Other things?” 

“Yes ma’am, he says that intelligence agents shouldn’t let their own anger, nervousness, tiredness, and, uh,” he starts before taking a breath, deeper and longer than before, and shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. Mon raises her eyebrows in a silent question. Clearing his throat, Cassian continues, “and our _sexual urges_ cloud our judgement, so he encourages us to take care of them. He says that we need to keep ourselves uncompromised and unaffected, to think of ourselves like...” 

 _Like tools._ Mon finishes the thought in her head. _That sounds much more like Draven._

“And how does he suppose you do that?” 

It takes Cassian’s eyes widening for her to realize her mistake. 

“I’m sorry Cassian, I’m not asking you for your _sexual history,_ ” she says with a laugh, her heart warming when Cassian smiles in response. It’s barely noticeable — more a small brightening of his eyes than a smile — but still there. She wonders when the last time he smiled, _really_ smiled, was. Probably not recently. 

She schools her face back into a more serious expression, though most-likely failing, but she can’t bring herself to care. Professionalism in this conversation had gone out the window a long time ago. “What I meant, Captain, was this: does he expect you to go about this ‘regulation of self’ alone? Does he point you to people who can help?”

A look of confusion passes over Cassian’s face. “...People who can help?” he asks. 

She takes that as a definite no. 

“Yes, Cassian, we do have, though in limited supply, psychiatrists stationed on base who are here to help with those kinds of problems.”

Cassian nods. “Oh yeah, Draven did tell us about them.” 

“May I ask why you haven’t met with any of them before?“

Cassian looks to be getting more comfortable with the conversation; Mon guesses this is because the topic has switched to more logical, mission-success based ideas. “They don’t have the clearance level required to speak about any mission related material,” he says.

Mon sighs. “There are other things besides ‘mission related material’ that you could talk to them about.”

“Like what? Draven says giving any kind of personal information could compromise the integrity of-”

“ _Cassian,_ ” Mon interrupts him mid-sentence. She's getting tired of hearing the insensitive and harmful things Draven burned into his agents’ minds. “I know how dedicated you are to the Rebellion. I know that you think of Draven’s orders as law. But, I’m going to give you another order, not only for this mission, or only for missions in general, but for all the time in between as well. My orders are these: one, don’t hurt yourself. And I don’t only mean physically, Cassian. You’re allowed to ask for more time to recover both your body and your mind.” She pauses, taking in the expression on his face. His face is unreadable, but in a different way this time. It’s not blank, or emotionless — she can see he’s feeling something, but when it comes to what that something is, she’s at a loss. 

He’s not looking at her, his eyes once again trained at the floor just behind her. “And your second order?” he asks, his tone betraying his discomfort. He flinches.

“Second,” Mon says gently, “is that you acknowledge that you still have the right to think for yourself. I know that you’ve committed yourself to the Rebellion, that you’re prepared to give everything for it. But I don’t want you to _ever_ feel like you don’t have your own thoughts, your own opinions, or the ability to make your own decisions.” 

“Are you suggesting I disobey orders, ma’am?” She senses Cassian’s defenses returning. She’s losing him now. 

“I’m suggesting that you do what you feel is right.” She lets that sit for a moment, before continuing. “The Alliance does not wish to enslave its defenders. We want you to have some of the freedom that you are fighting to bring to the rest of the galaxy. Does that sound less treasonous, Captain?”

Cassian’s response is a sharp nod. 

“And can I trust you to follow these orders?” 

He nods again, this time slower and with a moment of hesitation. Not everything she had hoped for, but she was just going to have to take it as it was. 

She gives him a small smile before straightening herself as an indication that their discussion was coming to an end. “Well, good luck on your mission, Cassian. I trust you will do well. Don’t forget what I told you.”

“I won’t, ma’am.”

She smiles at him again. “Good. You’re dismissed, Captain.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, saluting. Then he’s heading past her towards the door.

“Cassian,” she calls before he takes the last step out of the room. He turns again to face her, attentive. 

“Yes ma’am?” 

A feeling of fondness blooms in her chest at his eager respect. Her love for her own children was unending and irreplaceable, but she frequently felt that Cassian took up a place in her heart just like her son and daughter did. 

“May I ask with whom you talk when you are upset?”

He tilts his head a degree, takes a breath, like he’s debating whether or not he should tell her. She waits patiently — it’s not her place to pry.

“Kay takes pretty good care of me,” he replies. A small smile dances across his features. It was not the response she had been expecting — an enforcer droid being of emotional help to anyone — but then again, Cassian was not just anyone and K2SO was not just any droid. If just the thought of K2SO’s companionship broke his almost permanent solemnity, then that was enough assurance for her that he had someone in his corner. 

She dismisses him again, watching him as he turns for the second time and heads down the corridor to the U-Wing where the girl and the droid would be waiting for him. 

“May the Force be with you,” she whispers after him, before contently heading back to her work. She prays he learns to care for himself as he does for others. Until then, she’ll just have to keep peeling away the layers of the mask he wears to hide himself from the world. 

One day, she promises herself, he’ll be happy.  

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently Mon Mothma is super concerned about Cassian (I mean, aren't we all) and it kinda ripped my heart to shreds. And so this happened. 
> 
> Anyways, I would love to hear what you think! I wrote it in sort of a rush - I didn't prepare at all for this week and so feedback would be much appreciated!


End file.
